Those red heels have already paid for themselves. Last night I wore them out to dinner and guess who kept looking over his shoulder at me all night long? Yes, Patxi, the one and only. Star Ac candidate extraordinaire. Clearly, the red heels don't even have to be seen to amp up your sex appeal. They just have to be in the room and minor reality tv celebrities are throwing themselves at my feet. Well, I just want to promise everyone right now that I will only use my superpowers for good, and not evil.
Although, posting that link to a site that you cannot get out of is actually quite evil.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Friday, November 10, 2006
Georgina Goodman python heels
Thanks to La Coquette, I managed to make it to the Maria Luisa braderie before they sold every single thing in the shop. There wasn't much choice when I got there this afternoon, but still, SO HARD to make a decision. Thank god I had a hair appointment or I might still be standing there with 6 pairs of heels lined up in front of me, doing calculations in my head to squeeze the most shoes out of the remaining euros in my bank account. Seriously, 50 euro for these heels? Insane.
Also got a pair of Manolo's, but they are a bit more summery so they are going right back in the box and up to the high shelf with the other sandals. I really had to struggle not to buy a pair of purple satin Manolo heels as well. It would be so ridiculous because when do I wear bright purple? But on the other hand, its such a great look, I think, when someone is dressed all in black with a really fabulous pair of heels. The sale is still going on tomorrow... maybe I'll have to use up my grocery money and just buy them. How often do I get to go to sales like this one?
Also got a pair of Manolo's, but they are a bit more summery so they are going right back in the box and up to the high shelf with the other sandals. I really had to struggle not to buy a pair of purple satin Manolo heels as well. It would be so ridiculous because when do I wear bright purple? But on the other hand, its such a great look, I think, when someone is dressed all in black with a really fabulous pair of heels. The sale is still going on tomorrow... maybe I'll have to use up my grocery money and just buy them. How often do I get to go to sales like this one?
Thursday, November 09, 2006
At the Place des Vosges
Ella looked so sweet today- she was wearing her big girl school clothes with her brown buckle shoes. Its so cute but its so sad to see her dressed like that. She really isn't a baby anymore. And I know that I really didn't enjoy her very much as an infant. This is so much better, so much more fun, when she can be this funny little person with a huge personality letting me discover something new about her everyday. But still. I sometimes sit with her and notice her chubby little baby feet, or maybe her big round baby cheeks, and I get this tightness in my stomach because I know, next time I look, they might not be there. I feel like I have to enjoy this as hard as I can because for the next 30 years or so- I suppose until Ella has babies that I can moon over- its over.
Like I said, infants are such hard work for so little return, but biology has done something to our brains and its fruitless to try and resist them.
I love this photo because it makes her look so little, reminds me that I can relax a bit because I have more than 5 minutes to enjoy her. We got kicked out of the little park next to our house when it closed at 5 so, since Ella wasn't ready to go in yet, we walked over to the Place des Vosges to play for a bit longer. It was already quite empty by the time we got there. It's one of my favorite things, to just hang back and watch Ella to see what she decides to do, with no one to give her instructions or suggestions. For once, I had my camera in my bag so I could snap a picture. While I played with the settings, she set off across the park- headed for the water fountain I would guess. Not a backward glance to see if I was following her, not a moments hesitation or nervousness to be on her own. It really does seem like she went from being a squalling baby to an invincible little girl in a night. Amazing.
Proof of my insanity
I need an intervention. I'm turning into Bree van der Camp and I don't know what to do to stop. Let me start at the beginning.
I mentioned that we were going to have an estate agent come to the apartment this week. Well, B told me this morning that he had made an appointment for Friday at noon. We wanted the cleaning lady to straighten things up a bit before anyone came round but that was going to be the sum total of our preparations. The house is in pretty good shape, there really wasn't anything special to do.
But then B went to work and left me alone to start planning my day. In all fairness, I didn't really have any other big plans but of course I immediately started thinking that I didn't want the person going into my dressing room before I had everything organized and behind closed doors, so I spent the morning in there. I ended up reorganing most of the cupboards, but I make such a mess when I am getting ready to go out, that its practically a weekly event.
Then I went to put a pair of shoes in B's cupboard and thought 5 minutes of rearranging would make it look much nicer. The previous owners had had a menusier install a really expensive closet organizer thing and I knew that I would be showing it to the agent. So I went through his cupboard- which took slightly more than 5 minutes...
I took a break for lunch and decided that really the only other thing I should probably do was the coat closet in the entry. The electrics were all in there and the agent would definitely be needing to take a look and since I moved in our winter coats, scarves, and hats, it was just a disaster. After Ella went down for her nap, I started taking things out of the cupboard and as I wiped the dust off the walls I realized that there was no point. It was never painted since we moved in and it was filthy, so I might as well just repaint the entire thing. It would look a million times better. We had just changed the doors on the hall closets so it made sense to make the inside look as nice as the outside, right?
2 hours later, I finished up. It wasn't a perfect job, but once everything would be put back in, it would be fine. I even ran down to the cave and dug out some boxes, covered in brown silk, that I hadn't been using and put our hats and scarves in them. I was totally satsified with what I had gotten done and would have stopped there, but Ella was still sleeping. So I decided to tackle the mess in my office.
I had been telling myself that I didn't have to worry about the office because one room would make no difference. And it was just too big of a mess to sort out in one day, etc. But actually, once I started cleaning, it went fairly quickly. I stepped back and looked at the bookshelves and realized that what really made it look a mess was all the different colored spines of the paperbacks. I love having lots of books, but honestly, they were just cheap paperbacks, bought mainly in airports and they looked cheap.
I pondered this for a minute and then I noticed the massive stack of white paper sitting on Ella's drawing table. B had brought it home last week for her to color on- but it would be just the thing for me. I can't take credit for this fab idea. I actually saw it once in a decorating magazine and loved it. I decided that I would make dust jackets for all my books out of white paper and write the name in pencil on the side. That way I could keep all my books around me but it would still look nice. I present photographic evidence- you decide if it is truly insane to have done this or if its so pretty that it was totally worth the effort- agent or no agent coming to judge my apartment.
I realize now that this was an insane thing to do. But I seriously have no judgement when it comes to deciding when I am going over the top. Ask my family, who have been suffering with this for years. Ask my friends, who will tell you how I can turn a simple coffee brunch into a 4 course sit down meal if they arrive 30 minutes late. Ask my poor husband who never trusts me anymore when I propose a simple project around the house, because he knows in about an hour I'll be introducing him to the architect that I hired... I don't feel like I am doing too much, I fell like it would be lazy to stop at good enough when, you know, I've got atleast a half hour of free time to kill. Its only in retrospect when I see the insanity. Of course, another theory would be that I have a bit of energy to burn. Clearly knitting is not enough of a hobby.
So really, this project is just par for the course. Its actually going quite fast- won't be finished by noon tomorrow, I don't think. But I can do about 40 books in an hour, so maybe... seems like it would be lazy to just lay in bed and sleep when it would only take another 4 hours to finish. And it looks so nice that I will be really happy to see it done. And...
here we go again.
I mentioned that we were going to have an estate agent come to the apartment this week. Well, B told me this morning that he had made an appointment for Friday at noon. We wanted the cleaning lady to straighten things up a bit before anyone came round but that was going to be the sum total of our preparations. The house is in pretty good shape, there really wasn't anything special to do.
But then B went to work and left me alone to start planning my day. In all fairness, I didn't really have any other big plans but of course I immediately started thinking that I didn't want the person going into my dressing room before I had everything organized and behind closed doors, so I spent the morning in there. I ended up reorganing most of the cupboards, but I make such a mess when I am getting ready to go out, that its practically a weekly event.
Then I went to put a pair of shoes in B's cupboard and thought 5 minutes of rearranging would make it look much nicer. The previous owners had had a menusier install a really expensive closet organizer thing and I knew that I would be showing it to the agent. So I went through his cupboard- which took slightly more than 5 minutes...
I took a break for lunch and decided that really the only other thing I should probably do was the coat closet in the entry. The electrics were all in there and the agent would definitely be needing to take a look and since I moved in our winter coats, scarves, and hats, it was just a disaster. After Ella went down for her nap, I started taking things out of the cupboard and as I wiped the dust off the walls I realized that there was no point. It was never painted since we moved in and it was filthy, so I might as well just repaint the entire thing. It would look a million times better. We had just changed the doors on the hall closets so it made sense to make the inside look as nice as the outside, right?
2 hours later, I finished up. It wasn't a perfect job, but once everything would be put back in, it would be fine. I even ran down to the cave and dug out some boxes, covered in brown silk, that I hadn't been using and put our hats and scarves in them. I was totally satsified with what I had gotten done and would have stopped there, but Ella was still sleeping. So I decided to tackle the mess in my office.
I had been telling myself that I didn't have to worry about the office because one room would make no difference. And it was just too big of a mess to sort out in one day, etc. But actually, once I started cleaning, it went fairly quickly. I stepped back and looked at the bookshelves and realized that what really made it look a mess was all the different colored spines of the paperbacks. I love having lots of books, but honestly, they were just cheap paperbacks, bought mainly in airports and they looked cheap.
I pondered this for a minute and then I noticed the massive stack of white paper sitting on Ella's drawing table. B had brought it home last week for her to color on- but it would be just the thing for me. I can't take credit for this fab idea. I actually saw it once in a decorating magazine and loved it. I decided that I would make dust jackets for all my books out of white paper and write the name in pencil on the side. That way I could keep all my books around me but it would still look nice. I present photographic evidence- you decide if it is truly insane to have done this or if its so pretty that it was totally worth the effort- agent or no agent coming to judge my apartment.
I realize now that this was an insane thing to do. But I seriously have no judgement when it comes to deciding when I am going over the top. Ask my family, who have been suffering with this for years. Ask my friends, who will tell you how I can turn a simple coffee brunch into a 4 course sit down meal if they arrive 30 minutes late. Ask my poor husband who never trusts me anymore when I propose a simple project around the house, because he knows in about an hour I'll be introducing him to the architect that I hired... I don't feel like I am doing too much, I fell like it would be lazy to stop at good enough when, you know, I've got atleast a half hour of free time to kill. Its only in retrospect when I see the insanity. Of course, another theory would be that I have a bit of energy to burn. Clearly knitting is not enough of a hobby.
So really, this project is just par for the course. Its actually going quite fast- won't be finished by noon tomorrow, I don't think. But I can do about 40 books in an hour, so maybe... seems like it would be lazy to just lay in bed and sleep when it would only take another 4 hours to finish. And it looks so nice that I will be really happy to see it done. And...
here we go again.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
My favorite dinner
This is absolutely my favorite eating-in dinner- Roasted Cod with Hollandaise and Fennel Puree. I was reading someone's blog today discussing Thanksgiving dinner and they were appalled by the idea that something as disgusting as fennel could possibly be included in the menu. That entry must have lodged itself in my brain, because when I went to the grocery store this afternoon and started wandering through the aisles looking for inspiration, I knew exactly what I wanted as soon as I saw the fennel.
If only the recipe was a little bit healthier- you are supposed to saute the fennel in a half cup of butter, before pureeing it and adding a half cup of cream. I suppose one could play around and try to cut the butter down to the bare minimum and add 0% yogurt instead of cream. But I hate doing that to my favorite dishes. I feel like its better to eat the real thing on very rare occasions rather than gorge myself on some pathetic substitute every other day.
B always makes it very easy for me- I looked at the bowl when I finished pureeing everything and I figured I would be eating it for the rest of the week. He took seconds (plus, I suspect, a few more spoonfuls during the transfer to the tupperware) and he has told me that there should be just enough for Ella tomorrow for lunch.
He is awful that way- if there is anything nice left on the table he'll very discreetly polish it off while in the kitchen straightening up. If I didn't keep a bit of an eye on things, he'd probably weigh 800 pounds by now.
Ode to my bain
Today got off to a really slow start once again. Every time that I start to wonder how other people get so much stuff done, I remind myself that other people are generally fed, bathed, and dressed before noon. I'm a disaster although whenever B runs a bath for me, I am doomed. How can you rush through a bath? Its just not possible.
I probably have pretty simple tastes, as far as the real bathing afficionados are concerned. I like a really big deep bath, which I managed to squeeze into our bizarre little bathroom space after HOURS of brainstorming and sketching (thank god I didn't have any real work when I was at Paribas or this post may never have come to be.) I like using bath salts instead of bubbles, especially Kneipp Lavendar Bath Salts although why oh why do they have to turn the water highlighter pen yellow? I feel like I'm stepping into a pit of nuclear reactor run-off water when the steam is rising off the surface of a glowing yellow bath. I've tried other brands and, for the price, this is the best thing you can buy, so I stick with it.
I don't use soap on my skin since everything irritates me- what luck that Ella has inherited this trait. Now I have cabinets full of special dermo-pediatric soaps for her, that I suppose I could try out, but I just don't see the point. Its not like I dig ditches for a living. I'll stick to water and an all-over scrub with a loofah. This last part is the most time-consuming but if I don't really scrub the dead skin off my legs, when I get them waxed, its like being fileted and they end up just ripping off the skin. I learned that lesson very very quickly.
And then if I have a cup of coffee and a new magazine, there is no way that I can finish up in less than 40 minutes.
Of course, once Ella could walk, my lovely lazy mornings seemed like they would become a distant memory. Since I couldn't trust her to run loose in the other room (although sometimes a Baby Einstein video would keep her occupied for a quick 20 minute soak) I generally had to shut her in the bathroom with me. That always made for a very relaxing bath... But, I think that Ella has become used to this lazy routine and she has adapted her own little morning ritual. Now there is hardly any sense in changing. In fact, after an amazing developmental leap that occured this morning, I may have to take more baths.
As Ella is very much a girly girl, she actually doesn't mind spending time going through all the treasures I have stashed away. I have one box in the bathroom that is full of sample lotions that I have gotten after going for a facial, or when I buy products. She LOVES playing with these. Occasionally she gets the cap off and squirts everything out but since they are just samples, the damage is limited. She sits and goes through the box of lotions and when she gets bored with that, spends some time dropping them in the water with me. Lately she has become very much attached to my Emergency Home Waxing Kit, so much so that today she actually put it in her stroller to take with her to school. She takes the pot of hardened wax and stirs it with the little wooden paddle and then comes over to me (particularly when I am doing my yoga and she knows that I won't be moving around) and wipes it on... areas that one would wax in an emergency. (To be honest, I have a real fear that this is going to be one of those random memories that sticks with her into adulthood. Waxing is pretty traumatic to me, and I have had years to try and get my head around the logic of paying a stranger to pour hot wax on my most delicate bits and then rip it off, provoking the closest pain I know to childbirth. Poor kid hasn't got a chance.) If she gets really bored she starts running in and out of the room, leaving the door open which means that I have to try and hunker down as low as possible in the water to avoid the draft. Except for today, when the door was wide-open and the recent cold snap meant that the draft was more like a wall of cold air, she actually shut the door when I asked her to. Only took 20 months but she finally proved her intelligence. I would rather have this than her singing her ABC's, just for anyone out there who wants to prove how much smarter their kid is.
But it gets better- then the phone rang. She looked at me and I said, "Go and get maman the phone! Quick!" She loves the phone, as all babies do I suppose, and so she dashed out to grab it, amazed that I was telling her to touch the phone rather than shouting at her to put it back. She came toddling back in as fast as her short little legs would carry her and proudly handed me the phone, while I lounged in the water. My very own be-diapered butler. How fantastic.
I probably have pretty simple tastes, as far as the real bathing afficionados are concerned. I like a really big deep bath, which I managed to squeeze into our bizarre little bathroom space after HOURS of brainstorming and sketching (thank god I didn't have any real work when I was at Paribas or this post may never have come to be.) I like using bath salts instead of bubbles, especially Kneipp Lavendar Bath Salts although why oh why do they have to turn the water highlighter pen yellow? I feel like I'm stepping into a pit of nuclear reactor run-off water when the steam is rising off the surface of a glowing yellow bath. I've tried other brands and, for the price, this is the best thing you can buy, so I stick with it.
I don't use soap on my skin since everything irritates me- what luck that Ella has inherited this trait. Now I have cabinets full of special dermo-pediatric soaps for her, that I suppose I could try out, but I just don't see the point. Its not like I dig ditches for a living. I'll stick to water and an all-over scrub with a loofah. This last part is the most time-consuming but if I don't really scrub the dead skin off my legs, when I get them waxed, its like being fileted and they end up just ripping off the skin. I learned that lesson very very quickly.
And then if I have a cup of coffee and a new magazine, there is no way that I can finish up in less than 40 minutes.
Of course, once Ella could walk, my lovely lazy mornings seemed like they would become a distant memory. Since I couldn't trust her to run loose in the other room (although sometimes a Baby Einstein video would keep her occupied for a quick 20 minute soak) I generally had to shut her in the bathroom with me. That always made for a very relaxing bath... But, I think that Ella has become used to this lazy routine and she has adapted her own little morning ritual. Now there is hardly any sense in changing. In fact, after an amazing developmental leap that occured this morning, I may have to take more baths.
As Ella is very much a girly girl, she actually doesn't mind spending time going through all the treasures I have stashed away. I have one box in the bathroom that is full of sample lotions that I have gotten after going for a facial, or when I buy products. She LOVES playing with these. Occasionally she gets the cap off and squirts everything out but since they are just samples, the damage is limited. She sits and goes through the box of lotions and when she gets bored with that, spends some time dropping them in the water with me. Lately she has become very much attached to my Emergency Home Waxing Kit, so much so that today she actually put it in her stroller to take with her to school. She takes the pot of hardened wax and stirs it with the little wooden paddle and then comes over to me (particularly when I am doing my yoga and she knows that I won't be moving around) and wipes it on... areas that one would wax in an emergency. (To be honest, I have a real fear that this is going to be one of those random memories that sticks with her into adulthood. Waxing is pretty traumatic to me, and I have had years to try and get my head around the logic of paying a stranger to pour hot wax on my most delicate bits and then rip it off, provoking the closest pain I know to childbirth. Poor kid hasn't got a chance.) If she gets really bored she starts running in and out of the room, leaving the door open which means that I have to try and hunker down as low as possible in the water to avoid the draft. Except for today, when the door was wide-open and the recent cold snap meant that the draft was more like a wall of cold air, she actually shut the door when I asked her to. Only took 20 months but she finally proved her intelligence. I would rather have this than her singing her ABC's, just for anyone out there who wants to prove how much smarter their kid is.
But it gets better- then the phone rang. She looked at me and I said, "Go and get maman the phone! Quick!" She loves the phone, as all babies do I suppose, and so she dashed out to grab it, amazed that I was telling her to touch the phone rather than shouting at her to put it back. She came toddling back in as fast as her short little legs would carry her and proudly handed me the phone, while I lounged in the water. My very own be-diapered butler. How fantastic.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
I'm a bit low on inspiration tonight, so I thought I would post a photo of the view out of my window. I love this view in the winter time when the leaves are off the trees and we can see all the lights. Its like Christmas. Of course, the downside is the bateau mouche and the spotlights that they shine practically in our living room. Small price to pay, I guess.
I better enjoy the view now. We are having a real estate agent stop by this week to give us an evaluation and then we are putting the place up for sale. I have seen an ad for a place in the 6th that sounds perfect- 140 m² to renovate and the price is well within our budget so the renovation would be amazing. I haven't visited the place yet because we will have to atleast start negotiations on a sale for this place before it will be worthwhile. I remember the last time we were searching for a flat (2 years worth of trolling immostreet.com, how could I forget that hell) and its so awful to see a place you love disappear. Of course it was mostly due to B's hesitating and constant second guessing and general paranoia ("Well, it seems like a great deal, but obviously that means that they are hiding something and in fact its a money pit!"). I don't think I could live through that a second time. And now that we have a child and I am unemployed, divorce is much less tempting.
Of course, with our marriage contract, I would get half of the profits when we sold this place, which is still more than enough to get me a really sweet pad of my own. Hmmm. I'm sure it won't get to that point, but still, I've learned that negotiations always go much better if you have a really good plan B.
Monday, November 06, 2006
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Even though all I wanted to do last night was lay on the sofa, eating take-out Indian dinner, and watching some stupid DVD from the Videobox on the corner, I had babysitter coming so B and I decided that we would force ourselves to go out and do something.
Actually, I really had wanted to see the new Alain Chabat film and it came out on Wednesday so a quick check on allocine.fr showed it playing at 8:30 at Les Halles and we grabbed our coats and dashed out the door. After dragging myself for miles through the Chatelet metro station on Thursday nights to go to knitting class, I refused to take the metro to the cinema. I love the metro, I take it whenever I can, I prefer the metro over a car for almost every single voyage I need to make in the city(because my impatience far outweighs my snobbisme) but I have very rapidly developed an aversion to Chatelet. Maybe its because I've been walking through there at the end of the day when walking through the tunnels is like wading through a human swamp. Its not just the smell, the air actually feels thick. Disgusting.
Last night was one of those gorgeous fall nights when there are no clouds so the moon was as bright as the street lights. It was cold but not so cold that you could see your breath, just right for walking. And I love walking through the Marais at night when there are almost no cars and you can just stroll down the middle of the streets, peaking in people's windows. So after arguing about time constraints -I swore that it would take us 10 minutes to get through the station to the cinema, and since the walk was only 20 minutes, it was very possibly faster to just go on foot. B just said, "You're wrong" and "Those heels are too high for you to walk in, we'll never make it in time." Oh, ye of little faith. We did walk and we did get there in 20 minutes, but there were only 6 seats left for the movie by the time we got to the front of the line. No way was I going to sit in the front row for the film so we decided to quick go over to Opera to see the movie there at 9:30. And to go there we had to take the metro so we ended up wading through the stench after all. Seriously, they should sell Hazmat suits at the entrance.
We got tickets for the movie at the next place and it was totally worth the hassle that it took. We loved the movie (I thought that the whole adoption storyline seemed a bit confusing. I definitely feel like it was added as an afterthought and it didn't really make sense.) But it was excellent for a French film. Most of the time I think that French films are just a lot of mutual masturbation. Everyone thinks everyone else is great and they don't actually do any editting so there are about 10 minutes of really great cinema and an hour and a half of blah blah blah. Its such a shame because there a so many films I think I would love if instead of filming the rough draft of the script, they actually did one or two re-writes before starting the cameras rolling. This film, was really well editted and there was almost nothing extraneous. I am totally not a cinephile so that is the sum total of my opinion on French Cinema.
Which makes my addiction to Voici and all the gossip about French cinema stars all the more pathetic...
Actually, I really had wanted to see the new Alain Chabat film and it came out on Wednesday so a quick check on allocine.fr showed it playing at 8:30 at Les Halles and we grabbed our coats and dashed out the door. After dragging myself for miles through the Chatelet metro station on Thursday nights to go to knitting class, I refused to take the metro to the cinema. I love the metro, I take it whenever I can, I prefer the metro over a car for almost every single voyage I need to make in the city(because my impatience far outweighs my snobbisme) but I have very rapidly developed an aversion to Chatelet. Maybe its because I've been walking through there at the end of the day when walking through the tunnels is like wading through a human swamp. Its not just the smell, the air actually feels thick. Disgusting.
Last night was one of those gorgeous fall nights when there are no clouds so the moon was as bright as the street lights. It was cold but not so cold that you could see your breath, just right for walking. And I love walking through the Marais at night when there are almost no cars and you can just stroll down the middle of the streets, peaking in people's windows. So after arguing about time constraints -I swore that it would take us 10 minutes to get through the station to the cinema, and since the walk was only 20 minutes, it was very possibly faster to just go on foot. B just said, "You're wrong" and "Those heels are too high for you to walk in, we'll never make it in time." Oh, ye of little faith. We did walk and we did get there in 20 minutes, but there were only 6 seats left for the movie by the time we got to the front of the line. No way was I going to sit in the front row for the film so we decided to quick go over to Opera to see the movie there at 9:30. And to go there we had to take the metro so we ended up wading through the stench after all. Seriously, they should sell Hazmat suits at the entrance.
We got tickets for the movie at the next place and it was totally worth the hassle that it took. We loved the movie (I thought that the whole adoption storyline seemed a bit confusing. I definitely feel like it was added as an afterthought and it didn't really make sense.) But it was excellent for a French film. Most of the time I think that French films are just a lot of mutual masturbation. Everyone thinks everyone else is great and they don't actually do any editting so there are about 10 minutes of really great cinema and an hour and a half of blah blah blah. Its such a shame because there a so many films I think I would love if instead of filming the rough draft of the script, they actually did one or two re-writes before starting the cameras rolling. This film, was really well editted and there was almost nothing extraneous. I am totally not a cinephile so that is the sum total of my opinion on French Cinema.
Which makes my addiction to Voici and all the gossip about French cinema stars all the more pathetic...
Saturday, November 04, 2006
the morning after
This is the trail that I found this morning leading from the hall to the bathroom. I think that says it all- laddered tights wrapped around the handle of my bag, mangy roses from random acquaintance sticking out, gorgeous yet dangerous heels kicked off immediately and abandoned, T-shirt inside out, coat in a pile, underwear stripped off- all of it emanating a smoky fug.
And yet, I still took off all my make-up before going to bed. I might not have enough sense to come home at a decent hour (the least of last night's errors...) but on some things I am inflexible.
And yet, I still took off all my make-up before going to bed. I might not have enough sense to come home at a decent hour (the least of last night's errors...) but on some things I am inflexible.
Friday, November 03, 2006
Admin Friday
Today I have a pile of "admin" work on my desk to get through; making appointments, returning emails, organizing the wine tasting dinner, buying plane tickets. I put this stuff off as long as I can and with any luck I can do it all this afternoon while Ella is at daycare and be done with it for atleast a week or two. I wish I had an assistant who did shit like this for me. It would be totally worth the price.
This is fantasy I can get off on- no more paper work, no standing in line at the post office, I would obviously have her do the grocery shopping. I could have her do all the returns for the clothes that I decide not to keep. She would be in charge of firing the cleaning ladies (I am slightly irritated at Shirley, the current femme de menage, for cancelling Tuesday's cleaning in order to spend the entire day at someone else's house), which is becoming a full-time job in and of itself.
Top of the list today is plane tickets. I found really well-priced tickets for Ella and I for Christmas and asked B if he wanted me to book them today, along with his, if he could give me his dates. He sort of shrugged and mumbled and generally indicated that he didn't want to talk about it- which ALWAYS sets me off. If he would just say "no, don't do it today" I would love it. But instead I have to beg and plead to find out what is going on. He finally said that he didn't know if he would actually be flying back to the States with us for Christmas because he thought it would be too much to spend, since we have so many taxes to pay between now and Christmas. Obviously, this is a huge thing, cancelling Christmas with us but he acted like it was just some minor detail he hadn't quite decided on yet. And the worst part was that he was using the excuse of not having any money for tickets but then he had asked me last night to look into booking a weekend away in Sardaigne at the beginning of December. I think that I am just going to call his bluff and buy my tickets and let him sort out the rest himself. Honestly, I don't believe for one second that he wants to miss Christmas with Ella. I think that his father has probably been complaining about us not being in France for the holidays and rather than mention that to me (which I don't care about anyways) he is trying a different tack. Its not going to happen, so he might as well just give in now and buy a damn plane ticket rather than doing it at the lastminute like he did this summer.
Thank god that I kept my American Express card - I know, I am only supposed to use it in emergencies but in my world, missing Christmas at home constitutes an emergency.
This is fantasy I can get off on- no more paper work, no standing in line at the post office, I would obviously have her do the grocery shopping. I could have her do all the returns for the clothes that I decide not to keep. She would be in charge of firing the cleaning ladies (I am slightly irritated at Shirley, the current femme de menage, for cancelling Tuesday's cleaning in order to spend the entire day at someone else's house), which is becoming a full-time job in and of itself.
Top of the list today is plane tickets. I found really well-priced tickets for Ella and I for Christmas and asked B if he wanted me to book them today, along with his, if he could give me his dates. He sort of shrugged and mumbled and generally indicated that he didn't want to talk about it- which ALWAYS sets me off. If he would just say "no, don't do it today" I would love it. But instead I have to beg and plead to find out what is going on. He finally said that he didn't know if he would actually be flying back to the States with us for Christmas because he thought it would be too much to spend, since we have so many taxes to pay between now and Christmas. Obviously, this is a huge thing, cancelling Christmas with us but he acted like it was just some minor detail he hadn't quite decided on yet. And the worst part was that he was using the excuse of not having any money for tickets but then he had asked me last night to look into booking a weekend away in Sardaigne at the beginning of December. I think that I am just going to call his bluff and buy my tickets and let him sort out the rest himself. Honestly, I don't believe for one second that he wants to miss Christmas with Ella. I think that his father has probably been complaining about us not being in France for the holidays and rather than mention that to me (which I don't care about anyways) he is trying a different tack. Its not going to happen, so he might as well just give in now and buy a damn plane ticket rather than doing it at the lastminute like he did this summer.
Thank god that I kept my American Express card - I know, I am only supposed to use it in emergencies but in my world, missing Christmas at home constitutes an emergency.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Fat Girls Do it Better
I have a subscription to French Ella, which is a bit silly. I tend to get very excited Sunday night, thinking about it waiting for me on the Welcome mat first thing Monday morning. Then when I stumble to the door (checking no neighbors are lingering in front of the elevator to see me in my robe and glasses), I snatch it up and rip off the plastic, only to be horribly disgusted to find ANOTHER cover story about Monico Belluci and the difficulties of being a mother and an international sex symbol. Of course, every other Monday, the story is about Isabella Adjani and her Strength. Gripping stuff.
So I am always, every Monday, surprised at how disappointed I am with the mag. With a bit of luck, there is a good restaurant suggestion, maybe an interesting travel page, but generally its just really blah. Not smart enough to force my way through in the hopes of improving my mind, not trashy and mindless enough to be escape reading. So I was more than surprised at how much I like one of the articles in this last weeks issue.
The article was called "Les Rondes Font Mieux l'Amour", or "Fat Girls Make Love Better"- a title guaranteed to catch your eye, but actually, there was something behind the catchy title. The idea that the article was putting out there was that a fat girl is less narcisstic than a skinny girl and so is free to enjoy herself and focus on the other's pleasure and her own.
On the other hand, a woman who is prepared to starve herself to achieve "the perfect body" looses herself and becomes the object of her own desire. It becomes impossible to loose control in any way- physical, sexual, emotional- and she then cuts herself off from the ability to have an orgasm. Once caught up in this endless quest for physical perfection, its hard to deal with the carnal side of sex- its sweaty and wet and messy and smelly. And while attaining physical perfection is a sort of attempt at seduction, its a seduction which is detached from the act, a demonstration, and one becomes so obsessed by the idea of how one appears during sex that there is no real participation.
I've had really funny relationship with my body since I was pregnant. I know that most people feel like it is an experience that puts them at ease with their body but for me it was the opposite. I felt like I lost so much control that I have been desperate ever since then to manage my body. Its even more bizarre because having spent years doing gymnastics and dance, you would think that I had worked through all these control issues. I used to be really at ease with my body and definitely, when sex was involved, never gave it a second thought what I looked like. I felt really comfortable in my skin. But now, I have all these issues. And I know that I am the same weight as before, the same size as before, but it all feels different and I am not as comfortable with being naked. It's to the point where I think it is affecting my sex life and thats why I am so glad that I read this article. It puts things in the right perspective. There is still a chasm between being intellectually aware and emotionally in synch with the idea but its a start.
So I am always, every Monday, surprised at how disappointed I am with the mag. With a bit of luck, there is a good restaurant suggestion, maybe an interesting travel page, but generally its just really blah. Not smart enough to force my way through in the hopes of improving my mind, not trashy and mindless enough to be escape reading. So I was more than surprised at how much I like one of the articles in this last weeks issue.
The article was called "Les Rondes Font Mieux l'Amour", or "Fat Girls Make Love Better"- a title guaranteed to catch your eye, but actually, there was something behind the catchy title. The idea that the article was putting out there was that a fat girl is less narcisstic than a skinny girl and so is free to enjoy herself and focus on the other's pleasure and her own.
On the other hand, a woman who is prepared to starve herself to achieve "the perfect body" looses herself and becomes the object of her own desire. It becomes impossible to loose control in any way- physical, sexual, emotional- and she then cuts herself off from the ability to have an orgasm. Once caught up in this endless quest for physical perfection, its hard to deal with the carnal side of sex- its sweaty and wet and messy and smelly. And while attaining physical perfection is a sort of attempt at seduction, its a seduction which is detached from the act, a demonstration, and one becomes so obsessed by the idea of how one appears during sex that there is no real participation.
I've had really funny relationship with my body since I was pregnant. I know that most people feel like it is an experience that puts them at ease with their body but for me it was the opposite. I felt like I lost so much control that I have been desperate ever since then to manage my body. Its even more bizarre because having spent years doing gymnastics and dance, you would think that I had worked through all these control issues. I used to be really at ease with my body and definitely, when sex was involved, never gave it a second thought what I looked like. I felt really comfortable in my skin. But now, I have all these issues. And I know that I am the same weight as before, the same size as before, but it all feels different and I am not as comfortable with being naked. It's to the point where I think it is affecting my sex life and thats why I am so glad that I read this article. It puts things in the right perspective. There is still a chasm between being intellectually aware and emotionally in synch with the idea but its a start.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
So, at what point do you decide to ditch your flakey friends?
I had plans last night to go out with some girlfriends. I actually made plans with my friend Mimi, who always goes out with a certain group of single girls- among them the Russian, the Model, the Fashionista, the PR, the Rich Student, etc- who I don't know very well, because they are all single and working and I spend some nights out with my husband, some with our married friends, and some with my mommy friends. Our social lives aren't the same obviously, but they have a big overlap. They don't mind if I come along because I more than pay my way and I don't compete with them for the single guys. I like them because I get so horrifically bored talking about real estate, finding a good cleaning lady, and nice parks for kids. I absolutely need to pretend atleast once a week that I am what I was- although as they all start to reach their 30's, once a week is enough of that lifestyle, which starts to seem a bit desperate and forced. Its like how in the last season of Sex in the City, you started to laugh a bit less and feel bad for them- praying that Carrie and Big would sort something out before the episode where she receives her first issue of AARP in the post.
I hadn't seen the girls this last weekend, so I was going through my emails and looking at the invites I had for parties on Halloween night and thought it would be fun to do something with them. It was already Tuesday afternoon, so a bit lastminute, but you know, everyone had Wednesday off, so I didn't think it would require that much organization to get people to go out. I talked to Mimi and she didn't have any plans. I sent her the invites I had and said I thought it would be fun to go to Regines, I hadn't been in ages. She was more interested but said that she would give some other people a call to see if there was anything really really good going on and would call me back at around 8:30/9. That was perfect because I had planned a big dinner at the house and didn't want to leave until after.
When B got home, I checked that he didn't mind doing some babysitting- I knew that he had plans for Wednesday so atleast it would be a fair trade this week. I made dinner and we sat down with wine for a nice meal, but we finished and there was no call from Mimi. I blew out my hair, fixed my make-up, but still no call from Mimi. Now, Mimi has been known to cancel- especially when it is just girls going out and she will be paying for herself. Realizing that it was almost 9 and she hadn't called yet, I rang her up so that I knew our plans and could pick out something to wear. No answer. I left a message but was already seeing red. I flopped on the sofa and said that I wasn't changing my clothes until she called me, that ?*!&*§ I just knew she was backing out and I had been really looking forward to a fun night out. Right in the middle of my tantrum, the phone rang- it could only be Mimi. I sent a silent apology her way and jumped up for phone, happy to have been completely wrong about her flakey-ness.
So I tell Mimi how I was just moaning about how sure I was that she was going to cancel, she had fallen asleep on the sofa and wouldn't be coming out, and wasn't I silly? Yeah, not so much. She tells me how her two other girlfriends, the Russian and the model, got in a fight on Sat night over which club to go to and weren't speaking still today. She was still planning on meeting with the Russian until the Russian pointed out that everything near the Champs was paying at the door, which she didn't want to do so she wanted to go to the Casbah. But Mimi pointed out that we would NEVER get taxis home in that neighborhood. So they decided that in any case, there would be too many awful people out on Halloween and everywhere would suck so it would be better to stay home. Didn't I agree?
Oh, well when you put it like that...
What really happened is that all the Wallets decided not to go out and so the single girls decided that it really wasn't worth a night out. I hate these girls sometimes. I get that they go out 4 or 5 nights a week so one night in is no big deal. But I have so much planning to do! I have to get a babysitter, I have to make sure Ella is gone the next morning so I can sleep off my hangover, I have to make sure that B has a night out in the cards so that we can have equal alone time. But then, its not like I have a back-up group of girlfriends; this is it. So really, the question of "When do you dump your flakey friends?" is totally rhetorical. I'll keep putting up with it until I have an alternative, which yeah, is easier said than done.
To top it all off, I couldn't even sit home and open up a bottle of champagne to drown my sorrows because we cleaned out all our stock before dear (champagne-swilling) Elizabeth left town and now the cave is filled up with red wine. Sitting home and drinking a bottle of red wine is not nearly decadent enough to make me feel better, so instead it was Pellegrino and an early bedtime. But I swear, if those bitches don't make it up to me this weekend, we are finished.
I had plans last night to go out with some girlfriends. I actually made plans with my friend Mimi, who always goes out with a certain group of single girls- among them the Russian, the Model, the Fashionista, the PR, the Rich Student, etc- who I don't know very well, because they are all single and working and I spend some nights out with my husband, some with our married friends, and some with my mommy friends. Our social lives aren't the same obviously, but they have a big overlap. They don't mind if I come along because I more than pay my way and I don't compete with them for the single guys. I like them because I get so horrifically bored talking about real estate, finding a good cleaning lady, and nice parks for kids. I absolutely need to pretend atleast once a week that I am what I was- although as they all start to reach their 30's, once a week is enough of that lifestyle, which starts to seem a bit desperate and forced. Its like how in the last season of Sex in the City, you started to laugh a bit less and feel bad for them- praying that Carrie and Big would sort something out before the episode where she receives her first issue of AARP in the post.
I hadn't seen the girls this last weekend, so I was going through my emails and looking at the invites I had for parties on Halloween night and thought it would be fun to do something with them. It was already Tuesday afternoon, so a bit lastminute, but you know, everyone had Wednesday off, so I didn't think it would require that much organization to get people to go out. I talked to Mimi and she didn't have any plans. I sent her the invites I had and said I thought it would be fun to go to Regines, I hadn't been in ages. She was more interested but said that she would give some other people a call to see if there was anything really really good going on and would call me back at around 8:30/9. That was perfect because I had planned a big dinner at the house and didn't want to leave until after.
When B got home, I checked that he didn't mind doing some babysitting- I knew that he had plans for Wednesday so atleast it would be a fair trade this week. I made dinner and we sat down with wine for a nice meal, but we finished and there was no call from Mimi. I blew out my hair, fixed my make-up, but still no call from Mimi. Now, Mimi has been known to cancel- especially when it is just girls going out and she will be paying for herself. Realizing that it was almost 9 and she hadn't called yet, I rang her up so that I knew our plans and could pick out something to wear. No answer. I left a message but was already seeing red. I flopped on the sofa and said that I wasn't changing my clothes until she called me, that ?*!&*§ I just knew she was backing out and I had been really looking forward to a fun night out. Right in the middle of my tantrum, the phone rang- it could only be Mimi. I sent a silent apology her way and jumped up for phone, happy to have been completely wrong about her flakey-ness.
So I tell Mimi how I was just moaning about how sure I was that she was going to cancel, she had fallen asleep on the sofa and wouldn't be coming out, and wasn't I silly? Yeah, not so much. She tells me how her two other girlfriends, the Russian and the model, got in a fight on Sat night over which club to go to and weren't speaking still today. She was still planning on meeting with the Russian until the Russian pointed out that everything near the Champs was paying at the door, which she didn't want to do so she wanted to go to the Casbah. But Mimi pointed out that we would NEVER get taxis home in that neighborhood. So they decided that in any case, there would be too many awful people out on Halloween and everywhere would suck so it would be better to stay home. Didn't I agree?
Oh, well when you put it like that...
What really happened is that all the Wallets decided not to go out and so the single girls decided that it really wasn't worth a night out. I hate these girls sometimes. I get that they go out 4 or 5 nights a week so one night in is no big deal. But I have so much planning to do! I have to get a babysitter, I have to make sure Ella is gone the next morning so I can sleep off my hangover, I have to make sure that B has a night out in the cards so that we can have equal alone time. But then, its not like I have a back-up group of girlfriends; this is it. So really, the question of "When do you dump your flakey friends?" is totally rhetorical. I'll keep putting up with it until I have an alternative, which yeah, is easier said than done.
To top it all off, I couldn't even sit home and open up a bottle of champagne to drown my sorrows because we cleaned out all our stock before dear (champagne-swilling) Elizabeth left town and now the cave is filled up with red wine. Sitting home and drinking a bottle of red wine is not nearly decadent enough to make me feel better, so instead it was Pellegrino and an early bedtime. But I swear, if those bitches don't make it up to me this weekend, we are finished.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Monday, October 30, 2006
Cute toy, huh? I mean, its just little plastic figurines. Its not anything I would pick out for Ella, but she loves it because its "Deeee!". Still, I bought it at the grocery store this morning, and you want to know why? It was either that or go to jail.
OK, maybe not jail. But maybe. This is the closest I've ever been to getting arrested (while sober and able to remember all the details). I don't know, I kind of just rolled with it when the security guy said I would have to buy it. OK, this is what happened. I spent too long doing my hair this morning and by the time I got out of the house, there wasn't enough time to go grocery shopping before I had to pick up Ella from daycare. So I went to daycare first and figured Ella would be Ok while I shopped. Well, she wasn't. Finally I let her out of the cart and she was walking along side me when she spotted a rack of Dora toys. We went over and prayed to the gods of FisherPrice for awhile, and then I tried to pull her towards the elevator. She grabbed one of these tubes which was on the lowest shelf and happily came along with me. I decided that she could hold it for awile if it made shopping easier and then I would trade her a babybel for the toys at the cash register and leave it at the shop. Easy peasy.
So we do our shopping and ella drops the tube of toys before we even get a shopping cart. I, quite stupidly considering that my attention span is not much greater than the baby's, stuck it in the basket under the pousette to put back later. Of course I forgot about it. By the time we finished our shopping, Ella had ripped open no less than 4 packets of food, I was irrate because the woman ahead of me at the check-out was Chatty Kathy and WOULD NOT SHUT UP about the damn bath mat that she bought (it was thoroughly examined by the cashier and two delivery boys, plus her daughter and the woman at the next register over and declared very nice by all. Thank god or I might still be there.) , and I was starving for my lunch since it was already 1 o'clock. We ran upstairs, I pushed the stroller through the doors and BEEP BEEP BEEP. I had set off the alarms. For about 2 seconds I had no idea why and then it dawned on me- the stupid Dora toys.
The security guard came over, and I was not too fussed. I said, "Sorry about that. I know exactly what it is. The baby wanted these toys and I didn't want to buy them so I put them here and forgot to put it back. " I handed them back and turned to leave and he said, No no no; wait right here. Thats when I realized that basically, I had tried to steal them, as far as they could tell. I wasn't just a harried mother, but a thief. I had visions of being dragged to the managers office, while they called the police! And childrens services! And, the worst, my husband who would probably just tell them to haul me away because I was an absolute disaster and couldn't even be counted on to check the address of the restaurant when we go out to dinner. Good riddance. So, when the other security guy came and said, no problem- babies do this all the time, I was happy, nay, thrilled to cough up 7 euros (Ok, thrilled is not quite the word perhaps) to be done with it all.
And once we got home, Ella chucked the tube under the table and hasn't even glanced it again.
l'ecluse- no, the OTHER one
I found out last week that a friend of mine from uni was going to be in town for a week or so for work so we were playing phone tag trying to sort out a RdV. Finally, he sent me an email and invited me to a birthday party for his brother on Saturday night. I had met his brother before so it wasn't totally weird, so I said yes, and he sent me the details for the meet up.
Now B has a theory that I am a complete disaster when it comes to making dates with people- particulary when it is a complicated meeting, eg people are coming from a foreign country and don't know their way around. I tend to make a kind of vague plan for meeting up and then don't bother to get/give important info like cell phone numbers, addresses, door codes, etc. Like the time my poor cousin flew from Spain where she was an exchange student and I said that I would fly from Scotland and meet her at the airport. Of course, I gave her the wrong gate info and couldn't find her even though I spent an hour wandering all over the airport. Finally, she had to spend the night in a hostel and I had to call my mom, who called her mom, to give her my phone number and by that time she practically had to get back on her plane. Not a hugely successful weekend. But despite stuff like that, it never occurs to me that something might go wrong and we will need a back up plan. I just don't get that stressed out about meeting up for drinks. When I think back, B's a little bit right and maybe I should have learned my lesson by now. But I haven't and Saturday night was nearly a complete disaster due to my disaterous planning.
My friend Nick said that we should meet him at 8:30 at L'ecluse in the 8th. No problem. I get a babysitter and google the restaurant for the address. I was very proud of myself because I noted the address and phone number on a post-it and put it near the door so we wouldn't forget it and get lost on our way there. The gods were laughing at me...
We get to the restaurant on time, go in, and realize that not only is my friend not there but there is no way that this place could host a surprise party for 30 people. I ask the waiter and sure enough, there is no party scheduled. We check that the address is right. No problem there. I ask B to call Nick and see what is going on. Oops; he forgot his phone at home- I don't have Nick's number in my phone, I figured I didn't need it since B had it. So we think about trying to call the babysitter to have her search through his phone but figure it would be too complicated. I immediately decide that we should make the best of things and go find a resto with a free table, since it is still early enough that we might get in on the first seating somewhere. B is frantically trying to figure out how we can find out where they are and shouting at me about why I don't plan things better and there must be another resto by the same name in the 8th but how could we find it? How could I not have double checked in the yellowpages? Etc etc etc. But I figure that Nick feels twice as bad as we do about this so I can't see the point in freaking out. Either he'll call us or we'll just sort it out later.
In the meantime, I am starving so I drag B over to La Suite, which I wouldn't say is known for its fine cuisine but I like the music. I have to say that I think the crowd was mainly tourists and it seemed just a little bit embarrassing to be eating there, considering that we actually live in Paris. Like we should know about somewhere better to go, somewhere cooler. Maybe because of that, we got a great table straight away and actually have a great dinner. I ordered Satay Tuna and I LOVED it. After about 3 bites I knew it was my destiny to miss some crowded, mediocre bistro dinner because it was the best tuna that I had eaten in ages. I had called home to check with the babysitter to see if B's phone had been ringing and gave instructions for her to answer the phone and call us with a message if necessary but when my phone rang, it was Nick (who was apparently better prepared for disaster and had somehow got my phone number).
Turns out that there are TWO restaurants with the same name in the 8th and they were actually having the party at the second one near the Madeleine. Ooops. Should have checked the yellowpages. I said that we were already eating so we would just stop by after dinner to say hello. B didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. We've been married for 7 years so I know by the way that he was chewing that he was thinking "I told you so".
We went and met up with the party people and I ended up going out dancing with them at Doobies afterwards. It was so much fun because half the group had come up to Paris from somewhere in the South and were committed to making it a very big night out. I have been moaning about not having a big night out in ages and this was perfect- other than the fact that I came home so sweaty from the club- we had a table in the back room where the air had stopped working and it was like a sauna- that I had to take a shower before going to bed.
That reminds me, I have a mountain of clothes to take to the drycleaners. Since the fantasticly cheap place on rue St Paul closed in May I haven't found anywhere new and I am a bit nervous about experimenting with other cleaners. My last attempt ended with a 367 euro bill- note to the anglophones, "nettoyage de qualité" translates as "fucking expensive drycleaners"- and I kind of feel like I spent my entire dry-cleaning budget for the year. But seriously, the dress I wore on Saturday night is so filthy it is practically standing up on its own in my dressing. "Find a drycleaner" is definitely at the top of my to-do list today.
Now B has a theory that I am a complete disaster when it comes to making dates with people- particulary when it is a complicated meeting, eg people are coming from a foreign country and don't know their way around. I tend to make a kind of vague plan for meeting up and then don't bother to get/give important info like cell phone numbers, addresses, door codes, etc. Like the time my poor cousin flew from Spain where she was an exchange student and I said that I would fly from Scotland and meet her at the airport. Of course, I gave her the wrong gate info and couldn't find her even though I spent an hour wandering all over the airport. Finally, she had to spend the night in a hostel and I had to call my mom, who called her mom, to give her my phone number and by that time she practically had to get back on her plane. Not a hugely successful weekend. But despite stuff like that, it never occurs to me that something might go wrong and we will need a back up plan. I just don't get that stressed out about meeting up for drinks. When I think back, B's a little bit right and maybe I should have learned my lesson by now. But I haven't and Saturday night was nearly a complete disaster due to my disaterous planning.
My friend Nick said that we should meet him at 8:30 at L'ecluse in the 8th. No problem. I get a babysitter and google the restaurant for the address. I was very proud of myself because I noted the address and phone number on a post-it and put it near the door so we wouldn't forget it and get lost on our way there. The gods were laughing at me...
We get to the restaurant on time, go in, and realize that not only is my friend not there but there is no way that this place could host a surprise party for 30 people. I ask the waiter and sure enough, there is no party scheduled. We check that the address is right. No problem there. I ask B to call Nick and see what is going on. Oops; he forgot his phone at home- I don't have Nick's number in my phone, I figured I didn't need it since B had it. So we think about trying to call the babysitter to have her search through his phone but figure it would be too complicated. I immediately decide that we should make the best of things and go find a resto with a free table, since it is still early enough that we might get in on the first seating somewhere. B is frantically trying to figure out how we can find out where they are and shouting at me about why I don't plan things better and there must be another resto by the same name in the 8th but how could we find it? How could I not have double checked in the yellowpages? Etc etc etc. But I figure that Nick feels twice as bad as we do about this so I can't see the point in freaking out. Either he'll call us or we'll just sort it out later.
In the meantime, I am starving so I drag B over to La Suite, which I wouldn't say is known for its fine cuisine but I like the music. I have to say that I think the crowd was mainly tourists and it seemed just a little bit embarrassing to be eating there, considering that we actually live in Paris. Like we should know about somewhere better to go, somewhere cooler. Maybe because of that, we got a great table straight away and actually have a great dinner. I ordered Satay Tuna and I LOVED it. After about 3 bites I knew it was my destiny to miss some crowded, mediocre bistro dinner because it was the best tuna that I had eaten in ages. I had called home to check with the babysitter to see if B's phone had been ringing and gave instructions for her to answer the phone and call us with a message if necessary but when my phone rang, it was Nick (who was apparently better prepared for disaster and had somehow got my phone number).
Turns out that there are TWO restaurants with the same name in the 8th and they were actually having the party at the second one near the Madeleine. Ooops. Should have checked the yellowpages. I said that we were already eating so we would just stop by after dinner to say hello. B didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. We've been married for 7 years so I know by the way that he was chewing that he was thinking "I told you so".
We went and met up with the party people and I ended up going out dancing with them at Doobies afterwards. It was so much fun because half the group had come up to Paris from somewhere in the South and were committed to making it a very big night out. I have been moaning about not having a big night out in ages and this was perfect- other than the fact that I came home so sweaty from the club- we had a table in the back room where the air had stopped working and it was like a sauna- that I had to take a shower before going to bed.
That reminds me, I have a mountain of clothes to take to the drycleaners. Since the fantasticly cheap place on rue St Paul closed in May I haven't found anywhere new and I am a bit nervous about experimenting with other cleaners. My last attempt ended with a 367 euro bill- note to the anglophones, "nettoyage de qualité" translates as "fucking expensive drycleaners"- and I kind of feel like I spent my entire dry-cleaning budget for the year. But seriously, the dress I wore on Saturday night is so filthy it is practically standing up on its own in my dressing. "Find a drycleaner" is definitely at the top of my to-do list today.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Should have just stayed home
Honestly, I had the worst night last night. I think that I go out so rarely these days that I expect really great things when I do finally manage to make plans. But last night was not just a disappointment but honestly a bad idea.
I was supposed to meet a friend for a drink and a chat. Thats easy, right? Pretty low-key. So how did it all go so tragically wrong? I don't want to get into details but let's just say that a good night out for me does not normally include getting licked (I guess, a good night in might include licking?). Whatever, I don't want to turn this into a debate about when licking your companion is appropriate but suffice it to say, I wound up at midnight sitting on the terrace of a cafe having a much needed last drink by myself. Luckily there was a Swiss optical equipment salesman (SOES) sitting next to me with nothing to talk about (surprise surprise), but who was totally willing to listen to me pour out the whole pathetic story.
Bad for you, however, my dear readers, because I have already got it out of my system and do not want to go through it again.
One funny thing though. When people ask me what I do, I've gotten into the habit of saying "Nothing". At first it was just to avoid saying "Housewife." because, really why not just say, "I'm boring. Go talk to someone else." Now I've realized that actually its the best answer. People get the idea that I am either an heiress or a kept woman. Awesome. This guy was totally running with it and since I will never see him again and was in the mood for at least a bit of fun before my carriage turned into a pumpkin and I had to go home, I did sort of egg him on. But its funny how easy it is to simply say true things in a way that gives a totally distorted version of reality. For example: he asks "So, what do you do for money?" answer "I get out my credit card." True, completely true. And yet, when accompanied by a quizzical look, it sort of suggests total detattachement from the everyday life of the poor working man. This is what I am reduced to. I am a bit ashamed of myself.
Still, when put in the context of the whole terrible night, I think my bad was nothing. The real question is, Why are boys so awful?
I was supposed to meet a friend for a drink and a chat. Thats easy, right? Pretty low-key. So how did it all go so tragically wrong? I don't want to get into details but let's just say that a good night out for me does not normally include getting licked (I guess, a good night in might include licking?). Whatever, I don't want to turn this into a debate about when licking your companion is appropriate but suffice it to say, I wound up at midnight sitting on the terrace of a cafe having a much needed last drink by myself. Luckily there was a Swiss optical equipment salesman (SOES) sitting next to me with nothing to talk about (surprise surprise), but who was totally willing to listen to me pour out the whole pathetic story.
Bad for you, however, my dear readers, because I have already got it out of my system and do not want to go through it again.
One funny thing though. When people ask me what I do, I've gotten into the habit of saying "Nothing". At first it was just to avoid saying "Housewife." because, really why not just say, "I'm boring. Go talk to someone else." Now I've realized that actually its the best answer. People get the idea that I am either an heiress or a kept woman. Awesome. This guy was totally running with it and since I will never see him again and was in the mood for at least a bit of fun before my carriage turned into a pumpkin and I had to go home, I did sort of egg him on. But its funny how easy it is to simply say true things in a way that gives a totally distorted version of reality. For example: he asks "So, what do you do for money?" answer "I get out my credit card." True, completely true. And yet, when accompanied by a quizzical look, it sort of suggests total detattachement from the everyday life of the poor working man. This is what I am reduced to. I am a bit ashamed of myself.
Still, when put in the context of the whole terrible night, I think my bad was nothing. The real question is, Why are boys so awful?
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
T and F's wedding
If there is one thing that I have got to say about this wedding, its this: it seemed like everyone was young, rich, and beautiful. They must have a pretty strict screening process for their friends. And also, I am glad that I spent a silly amount of money on the clothes I wore, otherwise I think that I might have felt just a bit too selfconscious. I'm not sure that this group photo at the mairie does justice to what I just said (I have no idea who the guy is in the pale blue suit in the front row, doesn't seem quite hot enough to be an official invitee- I didn't seem him at the reception afterwards) but trust me. At the reception when everyone had changed into their party dresses, it would have been hard to pick the prettiest woman in the room. Well, no. I guess Fulya gets to be the prettiest. But the number 2 spot was very hotly contested.
The wedding was at the Press Club in the Sofitel just off the Champs Elysees and I had never even heard of it but the rooms where the party was were gorgeous. Typical fancy French stuff but so perfect for a wedding where half the guests were foreigners (Fulya is Turkish from Istanbul so all her friends and family flew in for the weekend). Also, not only were all the Turks good looking (and oddly, I thought, blonde) but they were almost all doctors. F is a psychiatrist and the others ran the gamut from dentist to cardiologist. Luckily for me, they all spoke English so I had a great time chatting. Very hot pharmacist was sitting on my right at dinner- but he was happily married so fun, harmless flirting was allowed. I like it much better when they are married because that way I don't have to deal with the vague disappointment of feeling like "But I didn't know that THIS was one of the options when I decided to get married as a fetus. Nobody told me that they also came in this model! No fair!!"
No, it was a nice dinner and the party was fun although I will admit straight away that we left at 2 am because the dancing had started and my feet were killing me and I just feared having to drag myself from bed at 7 with Ella and a hangover to keep me company. Also, I will admit, I HATE wedding dances. Hate them. I am never never never in the mood for dancing when I am at a wedding. Doesn't matter how open the bar is, I do not want to dance the chicken dance with my uncle or have my in-laws watch me bump-and-grind when my fav Sean Paul song is played. God, even thinking about it is getting me a bit creeped out. And I do feel bad because I think that everyone wants their wedding party to be this mad crazy rave, but I just can't do it, no matter how much I love the happy couple. I hate wedding dances.
So we left and crawled into bed at home and amazingly, Ella didn't wake us up until 10. God, sometimes I really love that kid.
Other great thing about the wedding is that I started to chat with a woman who came as the date of one of Thierry's friends and she asked me to send her my CV. She works in the oil business and her company might be hiring in my area. I hope she gives me a call because I quick look at her company's website got me very excited about the job.
And now that I have officially emptied my bank account, a job is even more necessary...
Friday, October 20, 2006
Wasn't Friday the 13th last week?
I was going to write a post about my night out with theh knitting group, where I started my first scarf!!! But instead I am going to very quickly make a list of everything that has gone wrong so far today-
1. Ella woke up at 5:30 and yelled every twenty minutes until 7
2. B forgot to set his alarm (the man downstairs didn't and so just when Ella stopped yelling we were woken by his trio of car alarms that he uses in place of a normal alarm clock)
3. The cleaning lady called to cancel
4. B said his aunt and father would be coming to dinner tonight
5. Ella cut her finger on something at the florists and covered herself, her stroller, and the counter with blood before I could get it under control (with the help of two employees). Honestly, with the amount of blood there was, I thought she must be missing a finger. I call the doctor in a panic and finally get a good look at it, only to see that... she has a clean slice about a quarter inch long. Thats it.
6. She won't take a nap.
7. I am desperately tired since I think the stupid Starbucks people gave me regular coffee and not decaf and I slept really really badly last night.
And I still have to try and clean the house in the 20 minutes that remain before taking Ella to garderie.
I still have to go and get my hair cut, buy groceries, make dinner and find a card for the wedding tomorrow. Did I mention that I also found out that the bride and groom want everyone to write a letter that they can put in their wedding album.
Just a quick moan about this damn wedding- we didn't even get an invitation. I don't know if they didn't send them or what. Then, the scheduling is totally bizarre and it is a nightmare trying to figure out how to organize my hour long journey there and back with Ella when she will have to skip her nap, but apparently everyone is incredibly upset by the idea that I am considering missing part of the festivities in order to minimize tantrums and maximize my enjoyment of the day (which I assure will be minimal in any case). All this fuss despite the fact that this is supposedly the most low key wedding possible. And for all this grief I am missing my cousins wedding, to which I was invited 7 weeks ago. My grandfather seems to be near death and I have decided to stay here for B's sake (I know that he would be suffering from a constrant stream of abuse if I missed this wedding) and what for? I am so irritated right now.
1. Ella woke up at 5:30 and yelled every twenty minutes until 7
2. B forgot to set his alarm (the man downstairs didn't and so just when Ella stopped yelling we were woken by his trio of car alarms that he uses in place of a normal alarm clock)
3. The cleaning lady called to cancel
4. B said his aunt and father would be coming to dinner tonight
5. Ella cut her finger on something at the florists and covered herself, her stroller, and the counter with blood before I could get it under control (with the help of two employees). Honestly, with the amount of blood there was, I thought she must be missing a finger. I call the doctor in a panic and finally get a good look at it, only to see that... she has a clean slice about a quarter inch long. Thats it.
6. She won't take a nap.
7. I am desperately tired since I think the stupid Starbucks people gave me regular coffee and not decaf and I slept really really badly last night.
And I still have to try and clean the house in the 20 minutes that remain before taking Ella to garderie.
I still have to go and get my hair cut, buy groceries, make dinner and find a card for the wedding tomorrow. Did I mention that I also found out that the bride and groom want everyone to write a letter that they can put in their wedding album.
Just a quick moan about this damn wedding- we didn't even get an invitation. I don't know if they didn't send them or what. Then, the scheduling is totally bizarre and it is a nightmare trying to figure out how to organize my hour long journey there and back with Ella when she will have to skip her nap, but apparently everyone is incredibly upset by the idea that I am considering missing part of the festivities in order to minimize tantrums and maximize my enjoyment of the day (which I assure will be minimal in any case). All this fuss despite the fact that this is supposedly the most low key wedding possible. And for all this grief I am missing my cousins wedding, to which I was invited 7 weeks ago. My grandfather seems to be near death and I have decided to stay here for B's sake (I know that he would be suffering from a constrant stream of abuse if I missed this wedding) and what for? I am so irritated right now.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Shopping spree
I just bought these shoes. I think I am going to be in big trouble with B because they cost a fortune but I love them so much. And I have been wanting a new pair of blue heels for ages. But they are so high I don't know if I would ever wear them. I am practicing walking from one end of the house to the other (but very very softly as to not wake the baby...) and I think I may be scuffing up the soles so much that they won't take them back anyways now.
Did I mention that I also bought a shirt to wear to the wedding on Saturday and it was a bit expensive. Its the same problem as always- I don't have enough time to properly shop around and find something I like for a good price so I just have to snatch up the first thing that catches my eye.
See, its just not my fault! (Do you think he'll buy that?)
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